In Search of Sleep
by OnlyBones
Summary: Sometimes it hurt a little; he was in love with her, meaning he couldn’t control it. He’d fallen in that deep crater of love for the one girl he was never supposed to." HPGW, smut, language, drug use.
1. Benefits, Or Not So Much

So this is basically how I deal with writer's block; I get another idea & work on that. I am really stuck with CB, so if you're reading that & have any ideas, message me or something I guess? I just feel bad because I was doing so well with it & now I'm lost. Anyway, my new bby, enjoy. **REVIEW**, otherwise i just might give up.

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_in search of sleep_

She sat at the edge of the bed, holding the comforter up to her thin chest. Her newly cut auburn hair was limp and stuck to her forehead. The cigarette held in her thin fingers led a trail of grey smolder that circled her face. She stared off into the dingy, dark room, and she didn't know when he'd wake. He cracked an eye open just a bit just to stare at her. Sometimes he would forget how beautiful she could look in such a dingy place. She turns her face to look at him, blowing her bangs out of her eyes.

"I know you're awake, assface." Her face remained impassive as she said this, followed by another drag.

He rubbed his emerald eyes, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The essence of daylight seeped from the sole window. His fingers reached for his glasses before placing them on his head. The details, every fine bit, came into focus to recreate the image he had been focused on for the past few minutes. She looked even better, even sexier, staring at him with that blank expression.

"What time is it?" he asked as he sat up. She shrugged and turned her head away.

Sometimes she would get like this, depressed and detached, or more detached than usual. He'd do anything just to get inside her head for a day, see what she saw, and listen to her thoughts. She was that remote when it came to her emotions; no one knew what she was feeling. That wasn't to say she was unsociable. She had a few friends, mostly people like her, artistic and outcast, but perfectly accepting of it.

She had changed considerably in the past year. She stopped hiding her art, stopping pretending to be a nice girl and a girl who gave two shits about what someone thought about her, her outfit, her beau. Just a month ago, after a serious argument with her mother, she had stormed into the kitchen on a rampage. She withdrew a knife and sliced off half of her hair, leaving it between her chin and shoulder. Instead of deeply regretting it, she came to love it and didn't bother with any of the hair-growth potions she had in the past.

The fact she didn't hold regrets made him go crazy. He wished to be like her in that way, to do something and not think twice. She had rumors flying about the school of how she was crazy and deranged, but she didn't do anything to stop it or try to prove herself.

"If people wanted to talk crazy, then let them speak," she laughed it off to him, her tone oozing of sarcasm. "Then we'll speak the same language."

They were best friends, but still more than that. They were friends with benefits, which meant no subject was too awkward to speak about. The only problem they faced was managing to work their way around everyone.

"We'd better get going," he whispered, staring at her profile.

She turned to face him, a half smile on her mouth. "You don't want to go again?"

He laughed, reaching out to her and pulling her down into his lean muscular chest. "We have to get back."

She buried her face in his torso, throwing the cigarette onto the floor and possibly landing on their clothes. They fell back against the mattress as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I don't feel like moving."

"What about that second round?" He smirked down at her, as she looked up and let out a small laugh.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position. "Fine, you wanna be a good boy."

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, but she quickly jumped onto his back pulling him backwards on top of her.

"I'm going to stare at you naked," she hissed in his ear. Her smoky breath and just the thought of her staring at him made him want to stay in bed.

"Then I'll stare at you naked," he retorted with a smile as he pried himself from her grasp and pushed himself into an upright position again.

She flipped her long side bangs out of her eyes again, and giggled. "As if you don't already."

He dug around for his boxers in the mess of their clothing, tossing her smoldering cigarette that she'd thrown earlier under the bed. She reached around him, withdrawing a pair of boyshorts and a bra.

"You should go commando," she joked, trying to push him over as he stuck a leg in his boxers.

He quickly caught his balance by grabbing onto the edge of the nightstand, and bluntly replied, "I will if you stop wearing yours."

She let out a loud laugh before replying, "I'd do better than you. I don't even _need_ a bra. Have you seen my boy chest? Honestly, Harry, how many times have we fucked? Is it not obvious there are first years with bigger boobs? Hell, you have bigger boobs than I do!"

He couldn't contain his laughter as she clasped on her bra. She was right, in a sense; she was considerably petite, standing at only five foot three, and weighing a hundred and four, if that. Harry picked up his shirt from the ground and pulled it over his messy ebony hair. There was a cigarette burn on the edge, thanks to her.

She pulled on her tight skinny jeans, which ironically fell loose on her bony legs. In a split second she pulled her short hair back into a ponytail with elastic. He watched from the corner of his eye as he buttoned up his own jeans.

"Hand me my shirt? Please?" she asked him as he threw it over to her. She quickly pulled the form-fitting black tee onto her torso and put on her shoes before leaving. "See you back there."

He waved as she shut the door; her footsteps repeated as she continued down the stairs of the inn in Hogsmeade. It had become a usual routine since the end of the last school year, one leaving before the other. Sometimes he wished she wasn't Ron's little sister. Sometimes he wished Ron wasn't his best friend. It might make things easier for them, or it could make things more gauche. He didn't know. But he constantly wished that she'd be his best friend for ever.

Sometimes it hurt a little; he was in love with her, meaning he couldn't control it. He'd fallen in that deep crater of love for the one girl he was never supposed to. She, on the other hand, loved him, like a _brother_. In sense, he was an equal to Ron, and even though when he thought about it he found it a bit awkward to admit. But he loved her, and he wouldn't dare expose himself to her. He knew he could ruin the most remarkable thing in his life, and he wouldn't risk it for the world.

Finally, he rose and left the grimy inn. His hands dug deep into his pockets as he wondered about her, wondered how she did it. She broke hearts without any effort, not even noticing. She managed to go from the all-around nice girl to her true self; which, ironically, wasn't that nice to everyone. She was an unprejudiced, imaginative, sarcastic bitch. He wouldn't change a thing about her.

**-x-x-**

Harry slouched down in one of the snug armchairs in front of the fireplace in the Common Room. Ron had his head bended over a piece of parchment as his girlfriend, Hermione Granger, looked over his shoulder. Every so often she would point out a factual error, or if she was really picky, a grammatical one. Secretly, or not so much, he was desperately envious of his best friends. They were truly _in _love with each other, and they'd been together since the start of their sixth year. It was fate really; Ron couldn't hide his admiration of her beauty, and she couldn't stop blushing whenever he'd say something. He wanted Ginny to fawn over him like that; he wanted it to be Ginny who was dreadfully in love with him, and then he could tell Ron it was Ginny who started the whole thing. What brother would deny his only sister love?

Sometimes his fantasies got him in over his head. He was a dreamer, to the definition. His mind wandered, and he fabricated stories and lies like no other. He had them all fooled, making up alibis and so on.

"Did you hear me, Harry?" Hermione said. Harry pushed himself up, mentally shaking himself awake. Ron and Hermione were both staring up at him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, dragging his hand down across his face. "Didn't sleep well."

"I didn't even hear you come in," Ron said, curiosity hinted in his voice.

Harry shrugged a bit and rubbed his eyes. "I got in around three."

This, of course, was a blatant lie. He got in around seven-fifty-three, and just seconds later Hermione saw him passed out on the couch. But he didn't need any naïve questions from Ron about whom he slept with.

"Are you hungover?" Hermione asked, eying his suspiciously. "I don't remember you drinking too much."

"Hermione, love, you came back around eleven-thirty," Ron reminded.

"So?" she retorted. "I was tired."

"I'm just saying," her beau replied, in his and Harry's defense. "The night had barely begun for Harry."

But Hermione was right, he was a bit hungover and it had only just started when she left. Ginny stolen a bottle of firewhiskey for them and shared it with him. She was quite a drinker by herself, but together they finished it in less than ten minutes. Before that, he couldn't recall how many shots or glasses of any alcohol he had.

Harry turned his head away from them, letting his head fall forward into his chest. He really wanted a cigarette, or a smoke of anything.

A voice came from behind him. "Hey."

He looked up from the corner of his eye, his heart picking up its pace. Ginny looked ruffled, and her eyes were bloodshot. He knew she would have a cigarette, or a blunt, or something. She was still in the same clothes from the night before, except that she'd carelessly thrown on a baggy sweatshirt. She threw herself down onto the couch next to Hermione, pulling her legs crossed underneath her.

"Late night?" Hermione chuckled with a smile. Ron narrowed his eyes at his younger sister. He never approved of her staying out late, drinking or hanging out boys. It seemed he could never grasp the concept of her growing older.

Ginny yawned and shrugged. "Just woke up is all. Still half-asleep."

"You shouldn't be staying out so late," her brother snapped. "You're sixteen, you shouldn't be –"

She cut him off with her laughter. "Fine, I'll stay in and study."

Harry snickered at this, and Ginny gave him her usual half-stoned half-smile. She had been a smart student last year, top of her class. But now she lagged behind by rarely handing in her work, and falling asleep during class.

"Don't you encourage her, Harry!" Ron hissed. "Mum'll kill her once she sees those grades."

"I'm not failing," Ginny replied angrily, which was true. She was lucky when it came to memorizing, she did have a gift for photographic memory.

"Well you should care more about your grades than going out every night," her older brother responded.

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. "Ron, Hermione does all your fucking work, so I don't get why you care so fucking much. Fuck this," she pushed herself up and took as long strides as she could with her short legs to the Common Room portrait door. "Fuck you."

"Hey!" Ron yelled after her, but the portrait door slammed behind her in a fury. A few other Gryffindors looked over for a second before returned to their own business. "Merlin, Ginny is such a _bitch_ these days. I don't get it."

"She's growing up, Ron," Hermione said softly, placing her thin hand on his shoulder. "I bet she feels like you're holding her back."

"Well, I am, because I don't want her to become some sort of slag or whore or something. Merlin, she's just sixteen!"

"So?" Harry spoke for the first time in a while. "We're seventeen. We were in her shoes last year. Didn't you want to be an adult then?"

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but closed it quickly. "You're _my_ best friend, Harry! Why are you backing her up?"

"Well," Hermione quickly rescued Harry. "Harry has done a quite bit more of growing up than we have. He's been in his fair share of battles; maybe he doesn't want to see her youth get taken away from her like he did?"

Harry nodded, surprised Hermione understood him considerably well. "Basically."

Ron grumbled before returning to his work. Harry had a step up over them; he'd narrowly defeated the Dark Lord just a few months earlier. Everyone saw him as more of a god than ever; they saw him as an idol, an adult, a role model. They'd read his biography, the headlines and those articles all about him. But they didn't know him.

It felt like the Final Battle had happened decades ago. Harry didn't care too much to reminisce over it, either. Their faces used to always surface in his mind; now he could only see their bodies, lying out upon Hogwarts' grounds while others dragged them away from the scene. It was obvious why he tried to focus on the present.

"I'm gonna go for a smoke," he mumbled, shoving his hands into his jeans' pockets, although his best friends had barely even heard.

Harry strode out into the barren, cold hallways. Winter was just a month away, and Halloween Feast was the following week. He was terrified his final year at Hogwarts was going to slip away, along with Ginny. It was his greatest fear; he'd lose yet another thing he loved. He'd faced death so many times, and lost so many loved ones that he should've been okay with it. But she made him feel different and alive; she made his skin burn like fire whilst her body was ice cold. She was unlike anyone he knew, and he didn't know how he would handle it if he lost her.

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	2. The Faintest of Encounters

**-x-x-x-x-**

She took a drag from her cigarette and stared down at the blank page in the little black book that had been her liberation for as long as she could remember. The pages were dwindling now. Her mind was stuck, for a first time. So she blamed the stress school was putting on her, disregarding the fact that she didn't care about her education anymore. Knowing about all the goblin wars from past centuries could only get you so far.

Her pencil tapped against the edge of the book, and tilts her head to the side. Normally her pieces just came to her, like a portrait of someone who didn't exist or scenery she dreamt about. If she was being somewhat lethargic, she'd draw real life sketches, but as of yet, she had never really done a portrait of anyone. Perhaps she'd create a self-portrait, but she was a little scared to know what she would look like as a drawing. She might see herself like the rest of the world did, but she just couldn't see or comprehend: carelessly thrown together, but still ethereally beautiful.

Ginny leaned her head against the stone wall of the outside of Hogwarts. She had stayed in the previous night, after getting into a fight with Ron for staying out to late on Friday. She had her classes tomorrow, and she considered what he had said. Maybe she should resume concentrating on her classes rather than going out to get wasted or high. Or possibly, she'd just put in just a bit more effort, be an average student instead one of the stoners. She didn't mind being classified as a stoner. She'd rather be labeled honestly than masquerade someone she wasn't.

The grey skies loomed over her head, ominous of rain. She picked at the growing hole on the upper thigh of her jeans. Sighing, Ginny dug her cigarette into the dirt. Sometimes she wished she had more friends. People always gave her ideas; the stupid words they say, the stories they make up, their fantasies. She wasn't like everyone else, and she was moderately conscious of it.

The wind whistled, blowing her messy ponytail around the nape of her neck. The trees from the Forbidden Forest and across the lake blew viciously along with gusty weather, shaking them and peeling their leaves. Ginny closed the tiny book in her lap when she felt a tiny drop on the top of her head. From the corner of her eye, she saw a figure sit down next to her. His emerald eyes glinted a bit from behind his frames.

"Hey," he said softly with a small smile. "You weren't in Hogsmeade last night."

She shook her head, and then let it fall back against the stone wall. "I didn't feel like getting in another row with Ron."

Harry shrugged, "He just wants what's best for you. You know that, right?"

Ginny rolled her eyes as she began to dig through her pockets, searching for something. "He's probably thinks I'm a whore."

He couldn't suppress a laugh, and she looked up at him, her hazel eyes just as amused. "He did say something about not wanting you to be a slag."

"I _knew_ it," She let out a victorious giggle. Then she gave Harry a friendly shove on the shoulder. "I blame you. You're a bad influence on me."

"_Me_?" Harry scoffed. "You do more drugs than I do!"

"Ha, drugs," she giggled softly as she pulled out her lighter. "You drink ten times more than I do."

"Well then, we're even," he replied as a resolution. "What're you looking for?"

"Zabini sold me some weed the other day," she whispered, as if there were Extendable Ears all around her. "I was _going_ to share –"

"Why are you buying from Zabini?" Harry asked curiously, sounding a bit naïve. "Don't you usually get it from Goldstein?"

She shrugged pulled out the blunt. "Yeah, but he can be such a perve. He's always feeling my ass, or my ass bone, whatever you prefer."

Harry forced a snigger, but felt a pang of envy. He was slightly possessive, ignoring the fact that she wasn't even his. "And Zabini's better?"

"Well, to him, I'm a dirty Weasley junkie, and I'm paying so he doesn't care," Ginny giggled as she lit up. She took a deep breath in, and then let the smoke out in front of her eyes. She handed it over to him and he did the same.

He'd miss this. It was how they really became friends. Getting high together, smoking together, wherever, whenever. Now that he thought about it, he got high more with Ginny than he did with Ron, but then again, Ron cut back when he got serious with Hermione. Harry had needed a replacement smoking companion anyway.

They were always quiet as the smoke settled for the first few drags. She took a hit, and then would pass the blunt to him. His mind wandered as he stared at the lake that was beginning to thrash and rage with the growing winds, and he thought back a few years. He remembered telling her they couldn't be together, like a silly cliché romance novel. They could have been; there was no physical obstruction. Just his constant anxiety that she'd be hurt. They could have been. It just hurt that they weren't.

Harry turned his head to get a good look at her. Her hair was dirty and uneven, but she loved it and for some reason, so did he. Her hazel eyes were unfocused, either from her thoughts or the high. Her complexion was beyond fair, translucent. She wasn't the type of girl you'd see playing in the sun, or hanging out on the beach on the best summer days. He wasn't much either, though.

She turned her head to stare at him, letting her mouth fall into that half-smile he loved. Her head tilted to the side a bit before asking, "What're you looking at?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, looking down quickly before making eye contact again. "Do you want to –"

"Find a secluded classroom?" she finished in utter sarcasm. She fluttered her eyelashes, obviously ridiculing her fellow classmates. "I want you _so_ bad. _Oh_, Harry!"

In the back of his mind he screamed yes, but he simply laughed loudly before crushing her in a bear hug, and toppling the both of them to the ground. They were best friends, friends with benefits. She didn't want his love, his affection. But he craved it from her. She inhabited almost his every thought; he couldn't help himself. He started to push himself up, but she pulled him back down, pressing her mouth against his.

"I wasn't really kidding," she breathed against his mouth. He forgot the smoking got her turned on, but he never minded.

"We can't," Harry tried to pull away, but her tiny hands grazed upon his neck, sending chills throughout his body.

"Where's my brother?" Ginny asked stridently, a look of slight exasperation on her face. She pushed herself up into a sitting position next to him.

"With Hermione, in the Common Room."

She sighed. "Damn. Forget it then. Unless –" she looked up, deviously. "Unless we stay outside..."

Harry laughed, but before he could even say a word, she had jumped on top of him, smothering him in a kiss. Ginny was quite impulsive, which was one of the reasons she had tried just about every drug he could think of or could handle more alcohol on an empty stomach than a few seventh years Harry knew. She never seemed to back down, possibly because she never knew when to stop. She didn't know how to handle herself just yet. She was young, he reminded himself, even if there was only a year age difference.

She slid her hands up his shirt, slamming him back to reality as the wind propelled around them and her freezing hands drifted across his chest. He tried to pull himself away from without being too abrupt, but he simply just had to jerk his head back.

"Ginny," he protested softly. "I think it's going to rain soon."

It had started to drizzle a bit now, and Ginny looked up into the dreary sky, as if questioning this. She rolled to the side, off of him, and blew a piece of her hair out of her eyes. "Sorry."

"Maybe if you'd been in Hogsmeade –" he said with a sly smile, but she cut him off.

"Ron was being an ass," she pouted as she crossed her arms over her slim chest. "I don't get why he cares so much."

"You're his sister," Harry reminded softly. She let out a grunt and leaned against the castle wall.

"So? He has five other brothers to worry about."

He let out a small, soft laugh. "Exactly. You're his sister. His _only_ and _youngest_ sister."

Ginny gave him adamant stare. "You're my best friend, why are you backing him up?"

The words sounded familiar to him, but he couldn't place them. Harry shrugged and replied, "He's my best friend, too."

"But he's too obsessed with Hermione! You rarely hang out without her," she protested. "You told me that, remember?"

He didn't, but he nodded without saying a word.

"Have you ever wondered," Ginny began softly, a tone of humor in her voice, "if they've finally fucked?"

"Ginny!" he shouted with laughter as she began to giggle. "Only you would think of something so perverted about your brother!"

"It's not just my brother," she snorted. "It's that hag, too!"

Their faces were bright red with laughter until the rain began to drizzle steadily. He pushed himself up, and then helped her up as she quickly grabbed her sketchbook in her hand. She draped his arm around her shoulder as they headed back up to the castle. Harry knew it meant nothing, but it was trivial things like that that sent his mind wild.

**-x-x-**

Ginny pushed her meal around with her fork, her chin resting in her palm. Hermione sat next to her, flipping through a textbook while shoveling food into her mouth with the other hand.

"This has to be the most ridiculous assignment," Hermione grumbled for the hundredth time. "The answer is definitely _not_ here!"

"It could be a trick question," Ron gurgled with a mouth full of food, pointing at her with his utensil. Hermione scowled and shook her head.

She finally slammed the book shut and let out a deep breath before staring her boyfriend straight in the eye. "Why would the professor give a _trick question_? It's not a guessing game, it's Arithmancy, Ron!" Her voice became shrill, and even Harry looked up from his plate with a sleepy eye.

"Calm down," Ron attempted at soothing her. "Just go in early and ask him."

Hermione bit on her lip as her eyes darted to the textbook, and shook her head. "I know it's in there. I just have to look harder."

"Hermione, dear," he tried again, his voice a little more forceful. "You don't have time."

"I can do it," she persisted, attempting to sound optimistic.

Ginny let her fork clatter to the plate and stood up, picking up her bag as she went.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Ron called after his sister, his mouth once again half full of half-chewed food. But she didn't even turn around from her usual, sluggish gait, instead heading straight for the hallways. Harry's eyes drifted to her full plate of breakfast and then up to the last vision he had of her leaving.

"I just don't get it," he mumbled, ruffling his red mane with his hand as he let his fork fall to the table. "She always does that. Leave abruptly, without a word! It's not like we were fighting or upset her..."

But neither Hermione nor Harry replied. Hermione was too busily engorged in the text to listen. And Harry – as usual, he didn't have an answer. He didn't fully understand Ginny either. She didn't feel the need to explain herself, assuming everyone should instantaneously comprehend.

Hermione then rose without a word also, hastily stuffing all her papers and her textbook into her already bulging back. "I think I found it – but I'm going to take with my professor first. I'll see you two in lunch!"

"Bye," Ron called out, even though her brisk pace had placed her already out the door. "Merlin, is it just me or is every female we know PMS-ing?"

Harry looked up at his friend, a half smile on his face as he tried not to break out in laughter. Ron returned the smile and then shrugged as he began to gather his things as well. Half-consciously, Harry followed the same suit, heading out with run in the throng of students leaving the Great Hall. He let his mind wander as his body took him elsewhere.

**-x-x-**

"Miss Weasley?" the voice called out from behind her as she was just about to leave the classroom. Ginny lifted up her head, her eyes drowsy and bloodshot. She just wanted to sleep.

She trudged over to the front of the room, which even felt like a struggle for her. Professor McGonagall peered at her from behind her spectacles, an amount of disdain that Ginny was used to receiving from adults.

"I was surprised by your grade on the test I gave last week," the headmistress said bluntly, revealing a piece of parchment. "A ninety-three, and yet you slept through the entire chapter... Miss Weasley, is everything all right?"

Her eyes, cat-like and provoking, made Ginny feel nauseous, from the top of her hair to the tips of her toes. She nodded robotically, reaching out to take the paper until her professor withdrew it from her grasp.

"I'm going to have to ask you to refrain for sleeping in my class, Miss Weasley. I know you are an intelligent young woman, and I wouldn't like you to be anything less of that," she held the exam back out to her. "Understood?"

Ginny nodded mechanically once more before turning around to leave. She carelessly shoved the paper into her bag, ripping and crumpling it as she did so. From behind her, the professor stared out at her, frustration clear upon her face. She'd seen too many students struggle to be clever and gain her approval, and to see one with the natural aptitude of it and just throw it away disgruntled her.

The tiny redhead threw her head back in exhaustion as she slugged to the Gryffindor Common Room. How could that brainless, ancient Transfiguration professor tell her not to sleep in her class? Truthfully, she wasn't even sleeping, just resting for the duration of the class. She even listened to the lectures from time to time.

Ginny trekked up to the girl's dormitory where she threw her book bag onto the floor and fell upon her four-post bed. Her body ached, and her eyes were dry. She needed a nap at the least. The only time she could really get a good night of sleep was when she was piss drunk, too inebriated to realize what was going, and then would just collapse wherever she was. She rolled over onto her stomach, thrusting her thin arms beneath her pillows, letting her head fall on top of them. Although her eyes fell closed and her body slack, her mind remained wide awake behind her eyelids, as she waited for the faintest encounter of slumber.

**-x-x-x-x-**

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	3. A Stranger's Bed

**-x-x-x-x-**

She sat at the bar, a drink in her hands, as a local rested his hand on her knee. She smiled at him in a way Harry knew she wouldn't be coming back to her own bed that night. Of course he was jealous, but he quickly knocked back the shot and turned his back to the two of them. But he wished he hadn't.

Ron had his tongue down Hermione's throat, as she carefully tried to push him off. She was too passive to tell him to calm the fuck down, and Harry continued to stare soullessly at the two of them. They continued to salivate on each others' faces as he scoped the pub. There were no promising females in the proximity, he figured, as all the good looking ones were taken, the ugly ones open and the one he really wanted was already stumbling out the back door.

Harry cleared his throat to catch his friends' attention, but when they failed to even acknowledge him at that point, he simply rose and left. He weaved his way through the crowded building and out into the temperate night. November had already slithered up on him, the Halloween feast gone and past, although he couldn't remember if he went or not. He dug his hands into his jacket's pockets as he continued along the path back to the school. He hated when he had to go out with Ron, especially when Hermione was there. What was the point in inviting him if they weren't going to talk and would just spit into each other's mouths?

It also meant he couldn't be with Ginny. He liked spending time with her, if that wasn't already obvious. She always managed to hitch a decent guy, hell she'd fuck anyone if they treated her good enough by buying her a couple of drinks or gave her some drugs. He wished he actually meant something to her.

Harry was already in the castle when he decided to look up from his scuffed shoes. The warmth of the edifice enticed him straight to the empty Common Room without another thought except for his own bed. He lumbered up the staircase into his dormitory. It was, of course, empty and dark. Even Neville was out doing something on the Saturday night.

He threw his body onto his cot, spreading his arms out on either side of him. Harry wondered what Ginny was doing, but quickly stopped himself. But he couldn't keep her out of his head for long; her uneven hair, the languid hazel eyes, sickly translucent skin, boney angles and her coughing fits. Her traits aloud sounded the opposite of what she was: perfect. He felt his cock twitch involuntarily at the mere thought of her, but he rolled over onto his stomach and fought to ignore it. He had done that too many times already, thinking of her while he touched himself.

It wasn't necessarily that it felt wrong, but more so it left him feeling more disheartened than he had begun. In theory, thinking of his best friend's little sister in that way would get him killed by any of the Weasley's. He laughed a bit at the notion, and wondered what they would do if they knew Ginny like he did. But even Harry didn't know Ginny all too well. She was enigmatic and crafty, leaving out details and always left him wondering the rest.

She told stories without beginnings or endings, simply a small occurrence or moral. He was dying to ask her questions, but he didn't know if she would acknowledge them at all. Maybe she liked being detached, or maybe she didn't want anyone to become fond of her. He tried to avert his thoughts elsewhere, but he didn't care about anything else. So he let his eyelids flicker shut, not an ounce of fatigue intimidating his mind or body, as he waited for sleep to claim him. He was often left waiting for hours at a time.

**-x-x-**

The local was far too old for her, but she'd been with older. He was twenty in two months, but she'd slept with a man who was twenty two last June. She wasn't stupid enough to tell him her real age, but she let on she was a student. His calloused hands smoothed over her sensitive skin as he would whisper in her ear. He bought her drinks; he mentioned something about his place. She didn't really care, it was a Saturday and she was noticeably sloshed.

He tugged on her tiny hand, and she followed, taking in the smell of cigarettes and weed on him. She liked him already as he led her down a few blocks and over a few to a tiny darkened house. He kissed her the second they were inside the house, obviously not the kind to ask if it was okay. But she was all right with that, she liked it quick and rough. She laughed a little at the thought before he pulled away.

"You want a line?" His eyes were searching her, she knew, trying to see if she was a girl who liked that, liked drugs and forgetting who she was.

Ginny gave a small giggle, let her hands slide lower on his hips, and whispered hoarsely, "Fuck yeah, I need one."

He grinned, his crooked teeth peering through his lips as he pulled out a small bag from his pocket. As he readied the lines, she looked around his house. It was shabby and bare; he was poor rather than a minimalist. She heard him snort and then turned her attention to him. He had his head bent over a beaten wooden coffee table as he sat in a sunken, aged sofa on the opposite side of the room. The man beckoned her over and she took her turn.

Ginny didn't wait a second for her high to start as she quickly pulled him into a kiss, and pushed him back onto the couch. Her skin felt like it was it was dripping from her bones as her muscles seemed to jitter. She could feel his growing erection against her hip as she lowered her body against his. She opened her eyes as he tore her shirt off over her eyes. His eyes were lowered on her body, but they were a dark color, a deep russet. She continued to work her hands and mouth on his body into the night even as she could feel the deep plummet as her high wore off.

**-x-x-**

Every morning was a struggle. She pushed her thin body out of bed, whether her own or someone else's it did not matter. The few hours of sleep that she got kept her in a stupor all the time. She didn't know what it was, this obstruction that refused to let her be asleep, but it had been there for quite a bit. It was something she accepted and never spoke about with anyone. It was just another part of her being, like a foot or an ear in a way. She couldn't get rid of it.

Stranger's beds always seemed warmer, more comfortable. They never provided a sufficient amount of sleep either, but she was used to it by now. As she quickly dressed herself in the fair hours of the morning where the sun had nearly completely risen, he grunted and rolled over onto his stomach. She ignored his presence as she lumbered out of the house and out into the fresh air. Her hangover felt as though someone was squeezing her temples in an uncompromising grip. This too she was accustomed to. She swiftly made her way back to the castle before anyone came to notice her absence. Ron didn't need to know that not only did she like to talk to boys; she liked to fuck them too.

It took her petite legs some time to reach it, but in time she found herself clambering into the Gryffindor Common Room. She trudged up the staircase to her dormitory and slipped inside where each bed was filled, excluding her own. Kicking off her shoes, Ginny quickly dove underneath the covers, hoping to erase any beliefs that she had stayed out all night again. She knew the other girls of her year thought she was wild, but she laughed at the thought of them, how they had once been friends.

They had scoffed at her ideas and thoughts, so she learned to keep them to herself. She knew enough to bite her lip at home, keeping her opinion to herself, if she didn't want to get yelled at by one of her older brothers. It took her a while to figure out that maybe, maybe not everyone was meant to conform so easily. Some of them managed, but others just couldn't do it. They were too different, too strange. Hence, she gave up.

Ginny was never meant to be a girl like Lavender Brown or Hermione Granger, and she knew it. To her, they were shallow and cowardly. If you weren't cleaned up enough, you'd be ostracized. If you did too many drugs, you were too loose. She couldn't help herself when she just didn't care. She liked getting an hour more of sleep rather than comb what was left of her hair. She liked trying new things, even if that meant she'd never remember it.

She tucked her head beneath her pillow as the other girls began to rise and change for their morning run. They yawned and stretched until they were awake enough to tiptoe outside to jog. Ginny stayed motionless until she heard their whispers leave and the door close shut. She pushed herself upwards and dug out a sweatshirt from underneath her bed. Pulling the dirty garment over her head, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed as she pulled the edges of her hair into a miniscule ponytail at the nape of her neck.

Her eyes drifted to one of her roommate's cleanly polished mirror. Sometimes she couldn't comprehend what she saw. Her eyes drooped with last night's eyeliner smudge to create even darker shadows on her eyes. Her skin was so insipid that she looked terminally ill and her smooth skin was rippled with dry patches from never being washed or cared for. She rolled up the arms of her shapeless sweatshirt, staring at the shape of the bone that was her arm. Scars littered up it, varying in sizes and color, but all screaming loud enough. She pulled up the loose garment, examining her torso, but regretted it. Her face fell into a frustrated frown as she turned to the side to inspect herself again. She let the garment fall over her frame again as she took one last look into the mirror.

In all sincerity, she didn't know why boys went after her. The only point of hygiene she had was that she showered and brushed her teeth regularly. But otherwise, she wore dirty clothes, leftover makeup and ratty hair. There was something she couldn't see that was in palpable sight. She poked one of her fingers into her skin underneath her top, feeling the softness and gagged a bit. She could never run away from that part of herself, no matter how many drugs or drinks she attained. It was something that she had never had the courage to talk about.

Ginny's feet carried her out of the room, away from the mirror, but she could hear her old voice screaming inside her head, the girl she used to be. But she wasn't screaming about her grime or her clothes. The voice carried her out the dormitory and the Common Room. She went on for what could have been an hour, unsure of what was happening. Then she saw the dirty, old door and the voice stopped. It was her decision now, not like it used to be. Even if it wasn't, it wouldn't make a difference as she pushed on the handle into the dirty, abandoned washroom. She'd make the same choice every time.

**-x-x-**

She sat on the window sill, one knee pulled up into her nearly flat chest and the other leg swinging back and forth. The cigarette in her hand was nearly finished, and as he watched her, he wanted to fuck her. If he wasn't sober, he would have asked her right then and there. But when he was, he was more of a gentleman. Her hazel, tired eyes gazed at his own with a just a hint of suggestion. She threw the cigarette out the window and shut it behind her as she slid down from the perch.

He watched her throw herself onto his bed; the empty dormitory echoed the sound of the springs and her legs knocking against the side of the wooden frame. Together they stayed in his room whilst dinner was close to starting. The idea that no one could interrupt them let him move himself from the chair across the room onto the bed with her. When he got a closer look at her face, he could see that she was thinking the identical idea.

It was always his lips that reacted first, as he pressed his mouth against hers. She pressed her tongue on his bottom lip, and he didn't even wait to let her in his mouth. He wrapped an arm around her waist as she pulled herself to sit on her knees as her one arm draped around his neck and the other drifted up his shirt. Her cold hand brought a jolt through his body as he quickly overpowered her so that she was beneath him.

His mouth moved to her earlobe, her most sensitive spot he learned long ago. She quickly started to rip off his shirt as she worked to take off her own. She ran a hand across his jaw, feeling the slight stubble of two days unshaved. He kicked off his shoes as she also pried off her own. For a brief second they separated as the cloth came between them revealing her black cotton bra. Harry returned his mouth to where her neck and jaw line met as her hands dropped to the button of his jeans. She expertly plucked it loose and unzipped them, wasting no time as she openly thrusted her tiny hand into his boxers. He let out a quick breath, feeling her small, cold hand move along his length. She giggled from beneath him, and removed her hand from his boxers as she shimmied out of her own jeans. He raised an eyebrow at the lack of undergarments.

Ginny giggled again, her smoky breath enticing him as she drew her gaunt body against him. "I said I would. Now you have to."

He chuckled but didn't reply as she started to pull off his pants. She threw them aside and smirked at him as she always did when they fucked. Maybe she didn't know that he didn't just like the way it felt, he liked the way _she_ felt. He liked the way her bones obtruded through her milky skin; he didn't mind that she was flat chested; in fact, he found it put less between them and he liked it. She was different from the other women he'd slept with, but undoubtedly she was the best.

She ran her hands through his raven black hair as he placed kissed between her breasts and down her stomach. He swiftly unclasped her bra as she managed to strip him of his last garment. Completely naked, Harry took a quick glance at her body, so thin, colorless and scarred; he hated himself for loving her.

When he was preoccupied by her image, Ginny managed to switch their positions so that she was on top of him. He yet again raised an eyebrow in surprise, which she snickered at but replied, "I don't think you're eager enough yet."

She dipped her head down to his lean, muscular chest built from hours of Quidditch. Her full lips kissed a path of blazing stimulation for him as she smoothed her long fingers along his sides. The tips of her fingers pressed against his hipbones as she ducked her head even lower, dragging the tip of her tongue along his inner thigh as close as she could get to his cock without touching it. He didn't think she could make his arousal become even more uncomfortable, but she managed.

"Ginny..." he hissed hoarsely as she giggled again as his tenseness. She could be such a tease, but it was clear even she wasn't in the mood to wait as she took the tip of him into her mouth once he quieted down.

She bobbed her head a few times on the tip for a minute until she moved her mouth farther onto him until he was past her gag reflex. She could hardly hear his noises as she concentrated to move her tongue along each ridge and vein. With one hand propping herself up, the other moved to the portion of his shaft that she couldn't manage to swallow, thrusting in time to her head. He could never get over even her tiniest ministrations, when feeling her breath upon him, and it made him even more roused that before. He began to thrust himself in tune with her thrusts.

Even she could feel his orgasm coming close as she began to force even harder on to him and soon enough, he could feel himself eject his seed into her mouth as she worked her tongue to gather every bit of it. He leaned his head farther back into his pillow, never able to get enough of her touch. She pulled her mouth away from him and smiled as she crawled on top of him.

He was about to return the favor when she stopped him, pulled his hand up from her wet sex. "I'm not saying I dislike it, but I –"

She couldn't even finish as he quickly flipped her on her back, fully aroused again. His husky voice replied, "I know what you mean."

He quickly thrust into her, not waiting for her to ready herself because he knew she liked it rough and even painful. She moaned softly as she carried her slim legs up around his waist, giving him a better angle. He began to thrust more rapidly and more vigorous than before as she tried to meet him on each one. Somehow she managed to lock his mouth in a kiss, pushing her tongue forcefully into his and kneading his own. He shifted one of his down between her legs to find her clit, rubbing it gently and teasingly so that he felt her gasp against his lips. He didn't bother to ask her if she all right, because even if it hurt, she would tell him to keep going and yell at him for pausing.

He stroked her more hastily and thrusted harder into her as he tried his best to hold back his orgasm for the time being. Ginny's frame soon began convulsing beneath him, writhing in pleasure and digging her ragged nails into his back. Her mouth became slack in their perpetual kiss as she came and her head fell back just as he allowed his seed to squirt into her. He fell to the side of her, both their breathing heavy and deep and the only sound in the room. She turned to him and laughed, "Next time, let's do it on Ron's bed."

"That's gross," Harry chuckled in turn as he sifted through the clothes for his boxers. He quickly dragged them on, but Ginny put her hand on the top of the elastic.

"You never seem to want a second round..." she whispered with wittiness, like a friend would tell another something during class. He wondered how he would manage if they weren't like this, if they didn't fuck each other just for the fun of it.

His eyes drifted to the clock, as he replied quietly, "They're probably on their way back."

"No quickie?" she smiled as she began to reach for her pants and her bra. With her eyes off of him, he took in her body again. There was a particularly large bruise on her left side, which he could only imagine what it was from. He would always be up for another go with her. He tore his eyes from her as he scavenged for the rest of his clothes and hurriedly pulled them on.

She finished dressing herself and turned to the door. Her voice was lively and teasing as she said, "See you around, Potter."

The door closed behind her when he finished pulling his shirt back on. He threw himself back on his bed, feeling tired but readily wakeful. A few minutes later, Ron came in through the door, asking for his whereabouts, complaining about the Slytherins and how badly he wanted Hermione to have sex with him. But Harry's mind was elsewhere even as his body sat across from his best friend. Her angular face swimming in his mind, her sharp bones, her crisp pale skin, her everything. He felt a bit nauseous counting the ways why he loved her, and why she would, or could, never love him back.

**-x-x-x-x-**

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A/N: **Hate me for all i care. I've been having some harder times than usual, but I want to continue this because i kind of really absolutely love it. So, you guys better **review review review review review review review!!!!!**

P.S. i made it really long & kinda smutty too, so you better enjoy it. :p


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